An Angel Wears Hightops [A Sequel to The Devil Wears Girl Jeans]

An Angel Wears Hightops (Chapter 13)

After Halden had kissed me, he'd immediately realized his mistake, and had stormed out of the apartment before I'd even had a chance to punch him in the face. Lucky for him, I guess, but for me, it just left me feeling confused and pissed off. So, I'd done what I always did when I needed to do a lot of deep thinking and reflection: I'd taken a shower.

I emerged into the steam-filled bathroom about half an hour later, my fingers so wrinkled that they resembled little prunes. Wrapping the only towel I could find in their cupboard- a threadbare Sesame Street one- around my waist, I leaned back against the door and stared at my reflection in the steam covered mirror. Black circles that I hadn't noticed before now hung under my eyes, my skin paler and more grey-tinted than I had ever seen it. To say that I looked like death would be putting it nicely.

I'd just leaned in to inspect the dark circles more closely, when suddenly something appeared in the mirror, causing me to scream and fall back, barely managing to keep my towel up.

Someone had written the number nine in the steam while I'd been standing there. Except that I was the only one in the room.

I watched in fear and slight amazement as the number 4 was slowly drawn beside it, the lines trembling as if who ever had written it had been trying to write it while riding a mechanical bull. I held my breath as seven more numbers appeared in a line beside it, each of them equally as shaky as the first.

“S..Sammy?” I asked, looking around the room as if he was just going to suddenly appear out of thin air, and be like, “Oh hey, just stopping by.”

But, of course, he didn't.

Suddenly, a line cut through the steam as if someones finger had been jerked across the surface. I watched in horror as whoever was writing drew an N, and then after about a thirty second pause, drew an O.

No.

It was like my blood had been replaced by ice water. It wasn't Sammy. That could only mean one thing: Dallas had died, and was haunting me. But if that were true, wouldn't the hospital have called me?

“Is this Dallas?” I asked, my voice weak from fear. I waited for three terribly long, agonizing minutes, and was just about to give up hope, when suddenly, a small NO appeared in the bottom corner of the mirror, partly obscured by a roll of toilet paper.

It wasn't Dallas. It wasn't Sammy either. Who the hell was it then?

“Do I know you? Or uh, did I know you?” I asked, wondering if ghosts got offended when you talked about them in past tense. I sure hoped they didn't, because I needed as many answers as I could get from whoever was writing in the steam on my mirror.

I waited for nearly ten minutes, but it was apparent that the ghost had gone, leaving me with nothing but a series of ten numbers that meant nothing to me. I was so frustrated that I nearly punched something, but thought better of it and instead headed into the kitchen to grab a notepad and paper to record the numbers on, just in case.

When I returned to the bathroom again, NO was written across the mirror in foot high letters.

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“Hartley?” Mrs. Thistlethwaite asked when she opened the door, as if she couldn't quite believe it was really me. Tears sprung to her eyes as she pulled me in for a bear hug, and I hugged her back, equally as tight.

“I'm sorry I didn't come stop by sooner, its just...I'm still trying to adjust to things.” I told her, and she nodded sadly, tears sliding down her cheeks as she closed the door behind me. At Sammy's funeral, she had told me to come visit her sometime. It'd taken me seven months, but I had finally worked up the courage to return to the place where Sammy had spent all of his short life.

“I'm just glad you came. No one comes to visit anymore, not since Sarah and my husband left. I was so used to having Sammy and Sarah's friends over all the time, the house was always filled with noise and life and happiness. But a month after the funeral, everyone just forgot about us all at once. It's hard being alone all the time, you don't know how much this means to me. Do you want some coffee?”

“Coffee would be great.” I told her, shrugging off my coat and hanging it over the back of one of the dining room chairs. I took a seat at the table, and she returned a few minutes later, holding a mug that read “WORLDS GREATEST MOTHER”, which surprisingly, she handed to me.

“How's school going for you?” she asked with a nervous smile, and I sighed, pouring a packet of sugar into my mug.

“It's rough. All my friends are gone, and it's.... It's difficult.”

“Trust me, hon. I know all about difficult. Losing your son, then going through a divorce all within three months? It's rough. Not to mention financial issues. It's impossible. I cant take much more of this.” she said quietly, resting her face in her hands. She looked so much like Sammy that it pained me.

“I honestly don't know what to say.” I murmured, taking a sip out of my coffee. It did nothing to wake me up, and if anything, just made me feel even more exhausted.

“I don't expect you to solve my problems.” she said with a half smiled. “Although, I think there's something you could help with. This Chad guy that everyone accused of killing Sammy... do you think he did it?”

I stared at her solemnly for a minute, trying to see if she'd be able to handle the truth. Then again, she'd handled so much so far, I figured she'd be fine.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “Yeah, I do.”

She was silent for a moment, but then nodded as if that was what she'd thought all along, and I'd just confirmed it.

“I'm not supposed to say anything, because its confidential, but I know I can trust you more than anyone else. The police came and talked to me the other day, said that they're letting him off the hook. I cant afford a lawyer to fight it either, so he's getting of without a sentence, or even any punishment at all. I feel like I've let Sammy down.” she said in almost a whisper, tears pooling in her eyes again. She cried a lot, I noticed, but then again, who could blame her?

Then it hit me: if Chad didn't get what he deserved, then Sammy would never move on. The only thing keeping him here was the fact that Chad still hadn't gotten sentenced. Unless I did something about that soon, Sammy might be stuck in limbo forever, and I had a feeling that that wouldn't necessarily be a good thing.

“There has to be a way to get money...” I murmured to myself, until suddenly I remembered something so completely vital, that I felt dumb for not remembering it sooner. It had been a few days after Sammy's funeral, when Tristan had told me that he was trying to contact one of Seth's friends who had been in law school, in order to deal with Sammy's case. If I could find this guy, there was a good chance he'd do it for a fraction of the price if I said I was friends with Seth.

In order to find this mystery lawyer though, first I had to get a hold of Tristan.

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Hope y'all haven't forgotten about Tristan! Also, I'd like to make a note that I've changed the name of the guy Mickey mentions in his note (in the last chapter) from Tony to Blake, because I find that to be more fitting, so just keep that in mind :)